Full of Terrors
by M. the Inspector
Summary: Post-ep quickies for seasons 7 and 8. Most recent: Hound & Arya heading down to King's Landing post S8E4, arguing about meat.
1. Motley Crew Heading North

A/N: Quickie post-ep scene for S7E5. I mean, how can this motley crew _not_ be the subject of a bunch of fanfic?

* * *

They all lay around the fire's dying embers, catching a little rest. Jorah had the watch. It was quiet – quiet enough that he thought everybody might be asleep, until…

"Gendry, is it." The low rasp of the Hound.

"Yes. That's me."

"I heard all about you."

The boy sat up. "All about me?"

"Mm. From the wolf girl."

"The-…?"

"The wolf girl. Arya Fucking Stark. Don't you remember her? You told her once that you wanted her to be your _lady_." The Hound's amusement was cold and unkind. "She was about seven at the time."

Someone else stirred – Thoros. "Let me get this straight, Clegane." _His_ voice was thick with drink. "You're saying that the girl who broke _your_ heart... was too young for _him_?"

Snorted laughter, from a couple of places.

"You'd better watch yourself, Thoros, if you don't want to end up with my-"

"That's my sister you're talking about." They had woken the King in the North – or perhaps the King just never slept. He was lying down, unmoving, facing away. But he sounded clearheaded and alert.

"Oh, for fuck's sake relax," the Hound snarled. "Thoros is a drunk talking out of his drunken ass. I didn't fuck her. I didn't let anyone _else_ fuck her. This boy here didn't have the balls to even _try_ to fuck her." He sighed. "And I'm sure she's dead now, so you don't need to worry about anybody fucking her at all."

At that, Snow rolled over. "Arya isn't dead," he said. "She returned to Winterfell not long ago. She's with Sansa now."

"With-?" The Hound laughed. "You're not serious."

"Do I strike you as a joker?"

"Well bugger me." He laughed again – softer. "All right. Good on her. I didn't think she got away."

Beric this time, earnest and commanding as usual. "Got away from what, Clegane? What happened?"

"The Lannisters sent-… people. After us." He shifted in the dark. "Freak of nature. Bigger than me. I tried to buy the girl time to get away, that's how-…" He moved again. Gesturing towards himself, probably. Towards his limp and his missing ear and whatever damage his clothes concealed. "But I didn't think she made it."

"Well, she did." Snow's voice was tight. "And she is my sister, so can we please not talk about her in the way that you were doing."

Tormund Giantsbane spoke up: "But I thought all you southern kings _like_ fucking your sisters?"

Jorah cleared his throat. "If we're all awake anyway, and rested enough to start brawling with one another, we might as well get moving."

Muttered curses from all around, but they got up.

* * *

The End.

It's too nutty a roster not to fanfic… but on the other hand, it's almost too nutty _to_ fanfic! Let me know what you think.


	2. Dany and Jamie Post Loot Train

A/N: This one's for a couple weeks ago, right after Drogon torched the loot train. I thought that if someone pulled Jamie out of the water, he would wake up to find himself Daenerys's prisoner.

* * *

They tied his wrists – no mean feat; he only had one. The stump had to be bound by thin cord pulled tight enough to cut into his flesh. He stood still while it was done, just staring at the Dragon Queen, trying to read her. He got nowhere.

They tethered him to her saddle and paraded him past the Dothraki army. He wasn't much able to feel humiliated or afraid; it took everything he had not to fall down and he couldn't understand what they were shouting at him anyway.

When at last they reached her tent he was shoved inside and thrown to the ground. But when she entered, she said: "Let him stand."

He did, and studied her again. He could see almost nothing of her father in her manner. Her looks perhaps, but it was hard to tell; Jamie had never seen King Aerys this young or this beautiful.

"They call you the Kingslayer. For what you did to my father."

Did she want an apology? _Fuck it,_ he thought suddenly. If she was going to execute him, he might as well go out telling the truth. "With all due respect, Your Grace, your father had it coming. Did you know that he was proposing to burn an _entire city_ of innocent people?"

"You betrayed and murdered my father," she said, as if he hadn't spoken, "And now you've stood against me in battle, in support of the woman who sits on my throne. I have every reason to kill you where you stand."

"And yet you're not going to." He squared up. "Why is that? Has my little brother crawled into your ear? He'd fit, almost. And he-"

"Jamie, shut your mouth." Tyrion stepped up – Jamie hadn't even noticed him. There was a rather _large_ entourage, now that he thought about it. Eight people hemming them in tight, and he hadn't registered a one of them. Daenerys Targaryen really did take up one's entire attention. "The Queen is trying to speak to you."

He fell silent, and she tried again. "Your brother has told me that you're not evil."

Her iciness maddened him; suddenly he _needed_ to get a rise out of her, whatever the cost. "Funny," he said, "He hasn't told me the same thing about you."

She said something unintelligible to her people, calmly, and one of the Dothraki knocked him down. He tasted blood. Stood up without wiping at it.

"I understand your tongue tends to get you into trouble," she said. "Perhaps you might be better off if someone relieved you of it."

He stared hard. Joffrey's malice had been palpable; you knew at once that his threats were anything but empty. Aerys had stunk of madness. Cersei he knew just because he _knew_ her. But this girl… it was impossible to tell if she meant what she said or not.

"But I haven't come to Westeros to mutilate its former rulers," she went on. "Much as you may deserve it."

 _She means it,_ he decided. _She means every word._

He ducked his head in apology, and she thawed a little. "At Tyrion's request I am going to spare your life," she said, "And try to make some use of you."

He glanced over and saw that Tyrion was tense, hardly breathing. _Request_ indeed – he had probably had to talk himself into knots, give all kinds of reassurances. Beg.

Then one of the other Dothraki said something, and they all erupted in nasty, dangerous laughter.

" _Vos. Vosecchi!_ " Daenerys barked it first at the man who had spoken – and then turned to upbraid the group at length. When she was done they pawed at the ground restlessly, eyes lowered, muttering what might be apologies.

Daenerys still looked agitated when she turned back to him. Anger was more approachable than ice, so he asked quietly: "What was that?"

"The Dothraki like to take spoils – including women." The anger in her voice was directed elsewhere, at least. "There aren't any women this time. So they're wondering whether my whole army will be permitted to rape you, or just my captains."

He froze. "Um."

"It's their custom. I've been on the wrong end of it myself. And then I killed the khals who believed in it." She glanced over her shoulder, spearing her men with the glare of an exasperated mother. "I have been _trying_ to teach my current captains a better way."

"Well… for my sake, I hope that you have been succeeding." But she didn't smile. Did she have no sense of humor at all? (Then how had Tyrion lasted so long with her?)

He had learned, to his sorrow, that when captured you had best make sure to win your captors over. If not humor, what would please her – what would please Brienne? "It is admirable that you treat others better than they have treated you," he said. "The world would be a better place if everyone followed your example."

And _that_ , finally, made her smile. Just a hint, a curving of her lips along with a haughty arch of eyebrow, but still.

"If you truly believe that," she said, "Then perhaps you'll become a help to me, instead of just a prisoner."

 _Or a snack for your dragon._ But it would be better to hold his tongue. And if _Tyrion_ had learned to do it, then surely, so could he.

* * *

The End.


	3. Theon and Yara Post Finale

**A/N: Takes place after the finale. Theon's little mission. If aftermath of torture bothers you, maybe give this a pass. Nothing gory happens onscreen, but.**

* * *

The commotion sounded like men fighting and dying, but she had long since stopped hoping that meant something good. The killing was always on Euron's side, and when it was done he always came back to her to brag, and roughhouse, and fuck.

After the commotion, though, she heard the hatch opening. People stomping down the stairs, people shouting. People shouting her name. Theon.

"Theon!" Euron had threatened her tongue more than once, but so far he had not touched it; he hadn't wanted to impede her ability to talk and scream. " _Theon_ I'm down here! In here!"

"Yara! Yara where are you! Somebody bring a light, it's fucking dark down here- Yara? Are you alone? Where are you – someone _bring a fucking light_!"

"Theon-." She swallowed hard and made herself say it; she didn't like to say it; she didn't like to even think about it. "Theon I don't need a light. He put out my eyes. I can't see."

" _Yara_ …" Sobbing like a girl. Sobbing more than _she_ had when Euron had actually taken his knife and-.

She rode out a wave of disgust and anger. _Balls were wasted on Theon anyway,_ she thought viciously. "Shut up – you're hurting my head," she snarled instead. He shut up – but came close to her suddenly, too suddenly, so that she flinched away and would have fled entirely if not for the chains.

"I'm sorry – Yara I'm so sorry." Still sobbing, but at least more quietly. His arms wrapped around her, squeezing so that all her injuries flared up and surprised a curse out of her. He felt that and let go. "Are you hurt?"

She hissed. " _Really_ , brother? Am I hurt? Did they take _your_ eyes, too? Now _don't_ start crying again." He sniveled pathetically but at least did not sob. She tried to think. "You're here. You took the ship?"

"Aye. We took the ship."

"And Euron is dead." She said it with certainty – all he had to do was say yes.

But Theon sniffled in a lung full of snot and then stammered: "Well-, I, we, we think so. Maybe. We, we think he may have dived overboard when we-"

" _Euron is alive?_ " She could hardly speak. She _couldn't_ speak, suddenly; her mouth was full of cotton and the world was spinning, the ground lurching beneath her, so disorienting and she couldn't even look around to get her bearings. "Euron is-."

"Yara – Yara no, he's, he can't hurt you, we won't let him, _I_ won't, I won't let him, I won't-… Yara? Yara?"

How was she supposed to tell if she was fainting or not? The world was _already_ fully dark.

* * *

It was three days before Yara was lucid again. In all that time Theon had not left her side – except for a few brief breaks to eat or piss, or stomp the deck and make sure everyone was doing what he'd ordered. Which was: sail the ship, and _fucking look for Euron._

He _should have_ dived overboard. Any sane person would have. And yet, none of the ironborn could really swear that they had seen him go. The tide of the battle had turned, and suddenly Euron was no longer there in the fray, but…

But. That would not be good enough for Yara, and she was right: there was every chance that their uncle was still alive, crawled into some hole like a cockroach, waiting to spring out and slit their throats while they slept.

Theon had no plans of sleeping. Not until he personally saw Euron's dead body hacked into pieces, anyway.

Finally Yara jerked awake. "Theon," she said clearly.

They weren't drugging her for the pain anymore. Once Theon could bear to look her over, he found he was able to assess the wounds with confidence; he had had many just like them. Except for the eyes, though. For better or worse Ramsay had taken a different tack.

"Yes," he said. "I'm here with you. I've hardly stepped away from your side."

"I know," she said. "I can hear it when you do. And smell the salt air on you when you come back."

"Listen, I'm so sor-"

"Enough with that. Have they found him yet?"

"Found him – Euron? Um. No. We've torn the ship apart."

" _We?_ I don't think so; you've been here with me. But perhaps _we_ should. I know this ship damn well by now – I can guide you around it, and you can do the-, the looking."

 _Are you sure you **want** to find Euron, just the two of us?_

As if reading his mind she slid her hand up him and grabbed his chin. "I've got balls enough for both of us and a very good knife. All you have to do is tell me where he's standing, and I promise you I'll take care of him myself."

He pulled away from her. "You don't have to be mean to me. I'm trying to help you."

She sucked in a deep breath. "I know. I apologize, brother. My mood's been a little stormy of late."

"Believe me I understand. You don't have to apologize. All right, let me call some of the men in here and tell them what we're going to do." Perhaps her little fit of madness would pass and she would agree to let some people accompany them. Did she really think she could fight? Or that _he_ could?

He called and four men answered, crowding in the little cabin with them because Theon didn't want to go shouting the news to the entire crew.

He started to explain, and was most of the way through when Yara grabbed his arm. " _Him_ ," she all but shouted – pointing at one of the men. " _Him._ You, right there." She stepped closer unhesitatingly and seized the one she had singled out. "You have Euron's stink all over you. _Euron's stink_ , you think I wouldn't notice it?!"

She was almost hysterical – but Theon noticed that no denials came out of the sailor's mouth. He only stammered wordlessly and looked side to side as if for protection.

"He's been hiding in your bunk, hasn't he," she shrieked, spit flying from her mouth. " _Hasn't he_ , you traitor scum! _Scum_!" She was shaking him as if she couldn't stop. "I'll burn your body and scatter you a hundred miles inland, you faithless worthless accident of birth! You are no man of mine, you are no man of the Iron Islands, how dare you, how _dare_ you harbor my uncle. Die." Before anyone could stop her a blade was in her hand and in his neck.

She pulled the knife out, wiped it clean and turned her head as if looking around. "Come on, Theon," she said – voice wavery, but cold at least. "We're going to start with that bastard's sleeping rack and we're not going to stop until we've found Euron and cut him into a thousand pieces. You three come with us and arm well: no sense giving him a fighting chance."

Theon followed meekly – a little ashamed of how fast he deferred to her, but mostly, just glad that she could still make him.

* * *

The End.

Sorrrryyyyy!


	4. Arya and the Hound Post Reunion

**A/N: You all know how I feel about Arya & the Hound. I liked their reunion last night, I guess, but I think that (even though they are both not talkers), they have more to say to each other. Below takes place a bit after S8E1 – the Hound is suiting up for some kind of mission outside of Winterfell.**

* * *

Most of the party had someone coming to see them off, but Sandor was lacing up alone.

Or so he thought. He sensed a presence and turned, and the little Stark bitch was _right there,_ stabbing distance for sure, just waiting. Hand on the hilt of her stupid little sword.

"You," he said, and made a point of going back to what he was doing. "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to tell you something." Her voice was flat and quiet, now – almost like his. He didn't like it. "Something I forgot to say, the other day."

 _What happened to you, girl?_ But he expected it was quite a lot, and he didn't have the time or the patience for a long story. If, even, she would tell it. "Well? So say it."

"I'm glad you survived," she said. "That's all."

He looked over at her and laughed outright. "You're glad I didn't die for you back then, so that I'm around to do it now? Warms the heart."

"You don't have a heart." Still flat and quiet. Certain.

Anger flared up in him. "You don't know that." He didn't know himself, really, except that the septon had hurt, and the girl and her sad old father had hurt, and Arya herself had stirred something, apparently, so much that he didn't even feel like killing her for the awful way she'd served him. "You don't know anything," he said, and her face didn't change. He gestured to her, up and down. "I wouldn't have done this to you."

Something twitched in her expression then, but it was gone too fast for him to read. "I stayed alive," she said. Nothing in the voice, but, the words were revealing enough. She was defensive.

"I know. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you." He stared at the boot he was working on. What the everloving fuck had he just said?

"I didn't need your help where I went next." He didn't ask, but a moment later she said, still in the same monotone: "The House of the Black and White."

"The-." He looked up – not sure if he was misunderstanding. "The Faceless Men? You actually...?"

She nodded. "I _said_ I was going to Braavos, didn't I?" For the first time, he heard a hint of _something_ in her. Sulk and resentment.

But bad attitude was better than nothing. "Good for you. Probably crossing names off your list left and right now."

She smiled. "You have no idea." Then the smile disappeared, suddenly. "I took _your_ name off, though. Back then. Before..." she jerked her head. "You know."

He huffed. He'd thought as much, more than once over the years, when he'd thought about her. "Just my shit luck. I would have appreciated a dagger."

"I know. I'm sorry." Back to the monotone, and he could read nothing. "But I mean it: I'm glad you didn't need one in the end."

He was done – all wrapped and strapped and ready. "Listen," he said, as he stood. "If I come back all dead and blue-eyed, you cut my damn head off – list or not."

"All right. I promise." She re-gripped her little sword. "I won't leave you for the fire."

He froze. That wasn't what he'd meant – he hadn't even _thought_ about that horror, about those _dragons,_ about what the Mad King's daughter was likely planning to do with her enemies.

 _Thanks for sending me off with that happy fucking thought,_ he wanted to tell her, but when he looked she was gone already. As silently as she'd come. Little bitch.

* * *

 **The End.**

 **The Hound is my absolute favorite thing in this show! I hope he gets satisfaction in the end. (It'd be great if he survives, too, but I sort of think that's secondary.).**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Post S8E4 - The Hound & Arya on the road to King's Landing. This is somewhat less warm of a relationship than I usually do for them, though they do still know each other pretty well.**

* * *

"It's off." She held the rabbit leg out for him to sniff.

He shrugged, grabbed it from her, and started to eat it himself.

She grabbed it back. "I _said_ , it's off." Laying down the law as if he were a little child. "It's going to make you sick. You can't eat it." She threw it down in the dirt. "I don't feel like sitting around waiting while you shit for days."

The Hound shrugged. Eyed it sitting there, and for a moment she thought he might pick it up and eat it again, just to be contrary. Then they could _really_ have a fight.

But he didn't. All he did was ask: "The fuck's eating you?"

She crossed her arms. "I'm hungry."

He looked at her. Snorted.

She scowled at him. He was right; they'd starved together for much longer than this and nobody had complained about it. She'd eaten something this morning, even. It was only a couple of hours.

Still. "They said I saved the world," she said after a bit. Stabbed at the fire with a stick to make sparks rise up. It made the Hound sit back in his seat a little. She liked that. "So they should be, you know, carrying me around on a litter or something and, and feeding me grapes." Complaining felt good. She stabbed harder. "But instead I'm _here._ Eating rotten meat. With _you._ "

The Hound tossed his own leftovers into the fire – it really _was_ off.

She waited for him to point out that _she_ was the one who had come to travel together _,_ and when he did that she was all ready to argue that there was really only one road out of Winterfell and it's not her fault he decided to plod along it, in her way, on the day she was leaving.

She waited. Paced around the fire, near to him, in case he gave her an excuse to hit him.

But he just sighed. Clapped his hands on his knees and looked up at her. "What are you so worried about?"

"I'm not _worried,_ " she snapped, reflexive.

He just kept looking. Eyebrows up, but otherwise she could barely read his expression through his tangled hair and that stupid _beard_ he wore.

Finally she told him what the fuck was eating her. "Daenerys is going to get there before we are. She's going to kill the queen without me."

The Hound cocked his head. Scratched himself on the chin. "Aye, maybe," he said. "But the Imp's got a hard-on for _fair trials._ Those take a while to arrange. We're like to find her still alive, in a-"

"She isn't going to wait for the Imp," Arya said over him. "She's going to fly right in on that dragon of hers, and burn Cersei to ash. For all we know she's done it already."

The Hound shook his head. "The Targaryen girl likes spectacle. You don't get much spectacle flying in alone on your dragon and burning one rotten old Lannister bitch in her nightgown." That was true. "She'll wait for her army, at least. She'll want everyone to see."

It made sense, but the not knowing was hard. "Do you really think that's what'll happen?" she asked at last. (As if she'd get any certainty asking _him_! But old habits died hard.).

He shrugged. "I think it's at least as likely as any of the shite you were worrying about."

She sat back down. Wondered if it was worth the trouble of trying to go kill a squirrel or something.

"There's some bread in my bag," the Hound said, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. "A little of that stale shit we had this morning."

She frowned at him. Was he joking? "But that's yours." She'd eaten her half before noon.

"You can have it. You did save the world after all."

* * *

 **The End.**


End file.
